Evidence of Guilt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  He looked stricken. I hastened to reassure him, but sucked my stomach in all the same.

  “Are you Ed Cole?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid I am.” Cole was about my height, with a slight build. Rising, he offered his hand and an apologetic smile.”This is really very embarrassing.”

  “I just hope you aren’t clairvoyant.”

  He blushed. “No, I’m simply an oaf with a big mouth.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, you haven’t offended a paying client. I’m here about Lisa Cornell.” I introduced myself and explained my involvement in the case.

  “I heard the courtroom was packed yesterday,” he said, gesturing to the chair on my side of the desk. “And that popular sentiment against your client is running high.” Despite the words, his tone was matter-of-fact rather than offensive. In any event, he was right.

  “Since we’re looking at a trial rather than a popularity contest,” I said, “sentiment doesn’t matter much.”

  Cole shook his head. “It would matter to me. In fact, I wouldn’t touch a case like that unless I was damn sure I was on the winning side.”

  “Winning side or right side?” I realized, too late, how self-righteous the words sounded.

  Cole shrugged them off and gave me a good-natured smile. “Both, I guess. A stable client base isn’t easy to come by. I wouldn’t want to see mine disappear overnight.”

  This was something that had begun to worry me, as well. Part of the reason I’d taken the case was to build a name for myself. But I hadn’t counted on the swell of animosity against my client. “Do you think that would happen?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say, I don’t want to be in a position to find out.” He smiled again and folded his hands on the desk. “All that’s beside the point, however. How can I help you?”

  “I understand there’s been quite a bit of interest in the Cornell property.”

  He nodded. “It’s a nice piece of real estate, almost ten acres with a stream and a pond. You don’t find property like that very often. Usually when you get a good-sized parcel, the bulk of it’s a ravine or otherwise unusable. Plus, here you’ve got access from two sides. There have been people interested in the place for years, but Anne never wanted to sell.”

  “Anne?”

  “Anne Drummond, Lisa’s aunt. She left the property to Lisa when she died, with the understanding that Lisa would come live here. Anne had a bee in her bonnet about keeping the place from being developed.”

  “She had no children of her own?”

  He shook his head.

  “Is there anyone in particular interested in the property?”

  “No one that comes to mind. For a number of years Larry Cox was after Anne to sell to him. He had the place just east of hers. Wanted to combine the properties and turn them into a dude ranch. You know, for tourists.”

  “Has he inquired about the property since her death?”

  “No. He sold his place a couple of years back and moved to Wyoming.”

  “How about more recent interest?” I asked. “Maybe from a corporation or development company?” That seemed to be the growth wave of the moment.

  Cole tugged on an earlobe. “I had an inquiry not long ago from a gentleman named Simmons in the Bay Area. He was rather vague about who he was representing. I had the feeling it was either a corporation or some well-known individual who wanted anonymity.”

  “Do you have his number?”

  “I’m sure I do, somewhere. There have been several other calls since Lisa’s death. I’ve been telling people to call back in a couple of months. We can’t sell until we get the estate sorted out.”

  “Who inherits now that Lisa is dead?”

  He frowned. “That’s an interesting question. Lisa’s mother claims she does. As far as I know, Lisa died without a will, so the woman may be right, except for the question of Lisa’s husband. I haven’t found a record of the divorce, and when I tried to track the guy down I got one dead end after another.”

  “You never reached him?”

  “The last address I have is in Santa Cruz. I talked to the woman he was living with there. She says they broke up in June and she hasn’t seen or heard from him since. Only she didn’t put it quite so politely.”

  “He was apparently here in town not too long ago to see Amy.”

  Cole nodded. “So I heard.”

  The phone rang and Cole picked it up. “No, she’s not,” he said, and then a moment later, “Hold on while I find a pen.”

  He opened a drawer, closed it, tried another, then began shuffling through the heaps of paper that covered the desk. Finally he stood up and began patting his own pockets.

  I reached into my purse and handed him a pen.

  He mouthed a silent “thanks,” then took a message of considerable length. “That was the veterinarian,” Cole said when he hung up.”Tina’s veterinarian, that is.”

  I was happy to see I wasn’t the only person who found myself acting as secretary for my secretary. I asked, “Do you know anything about a diary Lisa kept?”

  “What kind of diary?”

  “I’m not sure what it looked like, but it was a recording of thoughts and feelings associated with her headaches.”

  Cole shook his head. “I don’t recall seeing anything like that among her things at the house. I’m fairly certain it wasn’t among the items seized by the police.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance I could get into the house and take a look around?”

  His forehead creased. “I don’t ...”

  “It’s not just the diary. Lisa may have received a phone call the night she was killed. It was apparently a friend who needed help. Lisa canceled her date with her fiancé because of it.”

  “And you think this call is somehow relevant to her death?”

  “That’s what I’d like to find out.”

  Cole seemed to retreat into himself for a moment as he mulled this over. “You really think Lisa Cornell was killed by someone other than your client?”

  “If she was, Wes Harding shouldn’t have to pay for it.”

  “The police have been through everything at least once, and her parents took some personal items.”

  “I’d still like to look around.”

  Cole thought for a moment longer. “Okay,” he said finally. “I have to go out there today anyway. I guess it wouldn’t hurt if you came along. But it will have to be quick. I’ve got a meeting back here later this afternoon.”

  “I won’t slow you down, I promise.”

  “How about an hour from now? We can ride out together.”

  “Great.”

  I checked my watch and then took off for a stroll around Hadley, a town that has been recently discovered by tourists and those who feed off them. The town is quainter than Silver Creek; quainter now than it was a few years ago, in fact. I’m thankful that for all its changes, Silver Creek has been spared that kind of pseudo-Disney renovation.

  I passed up a gourmet cookie franchise, a T-shirt outlet and several antique shops, but succumbed to the temptation of a double latte at the town’s newest sidewalk cafe.

  When I returned to Cole’s office a woman with dark, unruly hair was sitting at the desk where he had been earlier. I gave her my name, which she managed to forget by the time she buzzed Cole.

  “There’s a Ms. . . . uh, a woman here to see you,” she told him, then hung up quickly.

  <><><>

  “Well,” I said to Cole on the way to the car, “was she or wasn’t she?”

  He went through the blushing routine again. “Almost four months.”

  “And she didn’t know?” I tried not to sound too incredulous.

  “Tina has trouble with details.”

  It sounded as though our secretaries had a lot in common.

  “She’d been told she could never have children. She and her husband took up raising dogs instead.” Cole opened the car door for me and tossed the fast-food wrappers from the front seat
to the back. “They have seven wolfhounds and a very small house.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  Cole sighed. “I hope they manage to find room for the baby.” He started the car and pulled onto the highway.

  “How well did you know Lisa Cornell?” I asked.

  “Not well at all. I knew her aunt, but I never met Lisa until after Anne died. I’d never even heard mention of Lisa until Anne revised her will.”

  “She revised her will? When was this?”

  “About six months before her death.” Cole grew silent for a moment. “By the time they discovered the cancer it had spread pretty far. The doctors gave her a year, and she only got half of it.”

  “When she learned of the cancer, that’s when she revised her will?”

  He nodded. “She’d originally left the property to Lisa’s mother. My father drew up that will more than twenty years ago.” Cole slowed as we passed a bicyclist. “A lot of people do that, you know; forget about updating their will as times change. When you know your time’s about up, though, I guess you want to get your affairs in order. At least Anne did.”

  “Did she say why she was making the change?”

  “Not specifically, but I know she wanted the house to go to someone who would live here. I think she was worried Lisa’s mother would sell the place.”

  “Were Lisa and her aunt close?”

  “I got the feeling it had been several years since they’d seen each other. I doubt they’d even been in touch until Anne learned she was sick. But Lisa lived with Anne for a while when she was a child. I imagine there’s a pretty strong bond that develops in a situation like that.”

  “What made Mrs. Drummond think Lisa wouldn’t sell?”

  “She worried about that,” Cole said, “but the two of them apparently talked it over.”

  “Anne Drummond must have cared deeply about the property.”

  “She did. But she was also a funny lady. You couldn’t always follow her logic.”

  “She lived alone?”

  He nodded. “She was married, but her husband ran off years ago. They’d only been married a short while when he left her. He was a handsome fellow, although I never did like him much. He was one of those types who smiles too often and walks with a swagger. Thought he was better than everyone else.”

  Sounded a lot like one of my old boyfriends, only he’d had the decency to run off before we made it official. “She never remarried?” I asked.

  “Nope. Never got a formal divorce either. Some people thought that was because she was still pining for him, but you want my opinion, I think she just forgot about him.”

  We pulled into the long gravel drive and parked. “Did Anne Drummond leave everything she owned to Lisa?”

  “Just the property and furnishings.” Cole searched through his pockets for the key. "Of course there wasn’t much else except for a small savings account. Left that to charity.”

  He opened the door and we stepped inside. “Things are pretty much as they were when Anne lived here,” he said, flipping on a light. “I don’t think Lisa had much stuff of her own, or maybe she just preferred what was here.”

  The house had a heavy, closed-up smell and a visible layer of dust, but it was otherwise clean. The decor was simple but inviting. Lots of pine and oak and nubby fabrics in solid, strong colors. An oil landscape hung above the stone fireplace, a braided rug lay in front of the hearth. Otherwise the walls and floor were bare.

  Although it was clearly a house that had been lived in, most of the personal touches were Amy’s. There was a stuffed tiger on the sofa, a glazed clay impression of a child’s hand on the mantel, a copy of Ranger Rick on the coffee table. Games and children’s books filled the bookshelf near the door.

  Comfortable and homey. I tried not to dwell on the two people whose abbreviated lives were reflected in the surroundings.

  “What are you looking for?” Cole asked. “Maybe I can lend a hand.”

  “I don’t know exactly. A desk calendar, address book, bills — anything that might help me piece together what happened the night Lisa died. I’m also looking for a small notebook she might have used as her diary.”

  Cole jangled the keys and change in his pocket. “Her parents took a lot of her papers, but you’re welcome to look around. I think there’s a calendar by the phone in the kitchen. She had some letters and manila envelopes in the bedroom, though they were probably among the things her parents packed up. I need to verify a few items for probate; then I’ll come back and help you look.”

  I found the calendar by the phone — a week-at-a-glance publication from UNICEF. It was still open to the first week of August. Nothing was penciled in for the night she died, not even her date with Stockman. There was a ten o’clock dentist appointment for Amy written in for Wednesday, a notation about two dozen cookies on Tuesday, and a cryptic GD listed for Sunday. Granger? I’d have to check to see if anyone knew his last name.

  I flipped through earlier weeks and found nothing illuminating.

  I didn’t find an address book, but I did find a short list of numbers at the front of the phone book. I copied them onto the back of an envelope I pulled from my purse. I recognized Caroline’s name and Mrs. Arabagucci’s, and surmised the other names would prove to be of a similar nature.

  From the kitchen I moved on to Lisa’s bedroom — a large, sunny, second-floor room at the back of the house. There was a four-poster bed to the left of the door, a tall chest at one end of the opposite wall, a rocking chair and low table at the other. As was true with the rest of the house, the room had little in the way of Lisa’s personal touch. No photographs, books, mementos. But maybe they’d already been packed up by her mother and stepfather.

  I started with the bottom drawer of the chest, which was empty, worked my way up past the jeans and T-shirts to the underwear in the topmost drawer. Amid the simple white cotton briefs and bras I found a pair of lace G-string pants that suggested “gift.” I wondered if they had come from Philip or a previous admirer, and whether Lisa had found skimpy lingerie as impractical and uncomfortable as I did.

  Cole appeared in the doorway just as 1 finished my search. “Any luck?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I’ve got an inventory for the stuff her parents took back at the office. It wasn’t much. They tagged the furniture they wanted to keep and asked me to ship it when the legalities were straightened out.”

  On our way downstairs we passed what was clearly Amy’s room. Pink-and-white-striped wallpaper, a ruffled bedspread, and an abundance of stuffed animals.

  “Mind if I look here too?” I asked.

  “Go ahead, as long as you don’t take too long.”

  I gave the closets and cupboards a cursory inspection. Nothing but toys and children’s books. The drawers held clothing, both child-size and doll-size. On the wall shelf, next to a wooden puzzle which spelled “Amy,” I found crayons and a spiral sketchbook.

  Opening the book, I flipped through the pages. They were filled largely with colorful, childlike scribblings. At the back there were pages of adult-quality sketches followed by a child’s attempt to imitate them. Several depicted dilapidated barns and gnarly trees. Another was a page of tiny flowers that reminded me of the wallpaper from my grandmother’s house when I was young. In addition, there were three pages of eyes and brows, as if the artist had been perfecting her technique, and a couple more of complete faces. The corresponding child’s sketches would have been indecipherable on their own, but with the adult drawings as a guide, I found it relatively easy to make sense of the younger artist’s efforts.

  Cole peered over my shoulder. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  “Lisa drew these? They’re quite good.” This was another side of Lisa I wasn’t familiar with. I knew the wide smile and friendly manner, the proud and devoted mother, the waitress with boundless energy. But her artistic talent, like her upcoming marriage and her problem with the headaches, was an area we’d never touch
ed on. I wondered what other facets of her character I’d find if I looked.

  “I assume they’re hers,” Cole said.”There were a couple of sketchbooks among the things her parents packed up and took with them.”

  He turned to the last page — stick figures of a mother and daughter holding hands. The body lines were too sure to have been drawn by a child, but the red crayon smiles, which extended well beyond the confines of the face, bore the clear stamp of a five-year-old hand.

  I had a sudden vision of Lisa and Amy, curled side by side on the sofa, heads bent, maybe giggling in conspiratorial fashion as they crafted the picture together.

  My chest grew tight and my throat burned. Mother and daughter, both now dead.

  Chapter 15

  When I got back to the office I found the door locked. Taped to the front was a note from Myra: Be back soon. Since she hadn’t bothered to indicate the hour, or the date, I had no idea when “soon” might be. Not that Myra’s notion of time and my own had much commonality anyway.

  Once I opened the door it was clear she’d been there that morning. The day’s mail was stacked on the left side of my desk, phone messages on the right. There was nothing of note in either pile except for a white business- size envelope marked “personal and confidential.”

  That always gets my attention, even though nine times out of ten it’s a gimmick. The last such missive had offered me a record-breaking low price on hand-tailored suits from Hong Kong.

  I took the letter into my office and opened it. This time it wasn’t a sales pitch.

  The envelope contained a single sheet of standard typing paper, erratically folded over on itself. The note, typed on what looked to be a manual machine, consisted of two lines: Who the hell do you think you are, anyway ? I wait for the day you suffer like they did.

  I read the note a second time, and then a third. My heart, which had stalled for a beat or two, began thumping noisily, like a dog’s tail against hard ground.

  I knew I shouldn’t take it personally. Criminal cases tend to push people’s buttons. And a case like ours, which involved a particularly disturbing crime, was bound to tap the public’s frustrations and fears.